Time Changes Everything
by mangobodyscrub
Summary: Story of a relationship that ignited over twenty years ago just starting to resurface. House/Cuddy, House/Wilson friendship, minor Wilson/Amber, Foreteen, and other cool stuff. This is my first story! Please be awesome and R&R. Thankles!
1. Meningitis

**Important first note! Please read THIS before reading the story:**

This is my first House M.D. fiction story. I'm very excited to write this! Especially during the last few weeks which are piled high with schoolwork and assignments. ;) I'm not new to fanfiction, but I'm definitely new to the House fanfic community. I started watching House this year, and after watching all the episodes (without sleeping haaahahah), I'm totally hooked! I gotta say that I was a little reluctant to join the bandwagon, but now I'm proud to say that I am now a happy cruiser. So! Before you read, I just want to let you guys know that there will be some changes in this story. Some characters who are deceased will still be alive, some who have left will return or come back briefly, and certain relationships between characters will also be altered. I know this first chapter isn't that great of an opening to my story/ideas, but I'm really looking forward to writing Wilson/House friendships, Cuddy/House awesomeness and other fantastic things. And I hope you loving readers are too!

(Also, disclaimers blah blah I don't own anything, and sorry if there are any errors, grammatical or punctual or just any other error. Forgive me, people!)

So, to end the note: Please enjoy reading and review, I hope you'll stick around! Thank you very much. - MBS

* * *

It was only a little quiet.

Except for that tinkling sound of piano keys, quietly pulling their strings under the hands of an individual, whose eyebrows furrowed as his fingers quietly performed their musical magic.

An individual whom was also sporting a deep purple bruise and small cut on his left eye and eyebrow.

Gregory House quietly continued plunking away at the piano, the mellow tune floating up into the air and past the thin walls of his office, into the long and nearly silent hallways of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. The music continued to travel, as House kept playing softly, not stopping his rhythm for a second. Quiet footsteps paced throughout the almost empty corridors, and dim voices were slowly being carried through the halls. There were nurses and there were doctors, putting away gurneys, picking up gloves, cleaning empty desk spaces and mopping floors; patients being wheeled back to their rooms, and other hospital employees packing out for the day. The shuffling of feet, fumbling of papers, murmuring voices and cleaning of the hospital accompanied by the faint sound of one piano spread their noises throughout post-meningitis outbreak Princeton Plainsboro, and House paid no account to any of it.

The music suddenly stopped as the doctor finally tore away his attention from his quiet performance, only to be rudely interrupted by a painful throb in his thigh and a fist quietly rapping on the door of his office. House looked up.

A familiar oncologist poked his head through the doorway. House greeted his friend with a nod but without looking at him, as James Wilson sidestepped through the glass and into the office, dragging a chair from the desk and taking a seat. His eyes look down at House's hand rubbing his thigh, his eyebrows furrowing together curiously.

"Hey."

House peered at Wilson through the corner of his bruised eye, still rubbing his leg.

"Leg okay?" Wilson asked, not wanting to press on too much. House exhaled a tiny breath.

"'S fine. Gaping hole in my leg here, likes to say hello sometimes. Good ol' Ibuprofen here says goodbye," he replies calmly, much to Wilson's relief as he watched House pop a tablet of the medication.

"I uh, heard about what happened with your patient. Sorry," Wilson offered, knowing it'd be useless, although his nature allowed him to apologize anyway. House looked over to Wilson fully this time.

"Patient's a patient," he throws back casually, standing up and limping over to his desk. He fumbled around in his drawer before pulling out a small pocket knife. He flashed it at Wilson who raised his eyebrows in interest. "Nice. Where'd you snag it?"

"Patient gave it to me," he answered, lightly twirling the knife in between his fingers. "Her dad, gave me this after I told the family that she didn't make it in time for surgery." He pointed to his bruised eye with his other hand.

"Meningitis does that. Careful," Wilson mentioned. He grabbed the gray and red ball off of House's desk, throwing it up in the air and catching it.

"Oh, don't worry daddy. Greg here's gonna have oodles of fun with this," he retorted, his eyes glued to the sharp glint over the curve of the knife. He paused, running his fingertips over the edge of the blade, as Wilson continued with bouncing the ball against the wall of the desk and back.

"Patient gave this to me because she was happy." House mentioned quietly, and Wilson set the ball down on his lap while glancing over at the other doctor and the blade. "Happy, or glad?"

"No, joyful," House deadpanned, hitting Wilson with a random burst of sarcasm. "She was glad that I was able to figure out what was wrong with her," he said, folding the knife back into its slit. Wilson nodded.

"So, she's an idiot."

"Of course she's an idiot!" House exclaimed, throwing out his hand almost dramatically and drawing Wilson's attention away from the over-sized tennis ball. "Patient didn't even get angry over the fact that she'd been infected with a disease at the last minute and that we couldn't help her!" House looked over at Wilson, hoping for some rationalization of some sort.

"Yes, she's an idiot because she didn't want to die without figuring out what killed her," Wilson shrugged, and threw the ball up in the air again. "Obviously the proper thing to do was scream and curse at her doctors and make her parents sue the hospital until we're dry out of money. Those selfless idiots."

"Oh shut up," House mildly snapped, rolling his eyes at the oncologist who was shaking his head. "You're just jealous because if you had more patients like that, you wouldn't have to hold their hands and painfully listen as they croak their last words while cancer slowly sucks the life out of their bodies." Wilson let out a small chuckle and shook his head again.

"So now you're gloating about this? House," Wilson slightly raised his voice, attempting to gather House's full attention and stood up from his chair. "Admit it. You're angry at yourself," he says, pointing at House with his finger and only receiving a raised eyebrow in return. "You feel guilty about not figuring out the diagnosis sooner, otherwise your patient wouldn't be in the morgue right now. Instead you're blaming the patient for not getting angry at you. You're deflecting on the patient!"

"You're right. I am mad. But take out the guilt part and that little accusation of yours would be perfect." House reached for his jacket, putting an arm through his sleeve while Wilson sighed, his arms flopping back to his sides. "You're just being human, and you don't want to show it because you're just a stubborn mule who takes pity and doesn't accept other humans being human." Wilson looked over at House, who had on his jacket and cane in hand. His foot shuffled slightly, and for a moment, Wilson thought he spotted that flicker of what could possibly be said humanness, before House's stare drew itself to the ground again. House paused for a moment, tapping his cane against the floor lightly before glancing up at Wilson.

"You wanna grab something to eat?"

"I love it when I'm right."

"Shut up, I am _not _guilty," House said, hobbling over to a smiling Wilson before turning off the light switch. "But we're going for drinks, too." He proceeded to reach for the door handle before suddenly stopping.

"You hear that?"

"What?"

A faint clacking noise was heard outside of House's office, down the hallway. It was coming closer.

"...High heels?" Wilson asked. House's eyes began scanning the hallway outside his office, before turning his head away towards Wilson.

"The bald eagle is approaching."

"The bald eagl-- who is the bald eagle?" Wilson asked confusedly.

"Cuddy is about to come into my office and make me do clinic hours. Make you do some, too."House turned his back to the door and walked around the piano, Wilson following.

"What? How do you know?" The clacking noise grew louder and closer.

"I stared into her bosom and knew she would make us. Her shirt is low cut today."

"That doesn't even make any sense, and isn't her shirt low cut almost everyda--"

"Ahem?"

Both heads turned towards the doorway, which was now open with the presence of Lisa Cuddy standing in the middle of it.

"Yes, your royal pain in my... groin?" House waggled his eyebrows towards the Dean of Medicine, who returned a brief but curt smile.

"I need you both to do some clinic hours, we're opening up in... thirty minutes," Cuddy said, her attention drawn to the piano sitting awkwardly in House's office, to House's brusing eyelid "how did you get that piano in here? And what happened to your eye?" Cuddy pointed at the instrument lying in between Wilson and House, before pointing her finger back at the diagnostician.

"I know, makes me look kinda cool, doesn't it?" Cuddy raised an eyebrow as House stepped around the piano, running his hand over the smooth top. "The magic lamp that was in here just minutes ago granted me the gift of music, right here in my office!" Wilson rested his elbow over the top, and Cuddy gave House a look, waiting for him to continue. "Found it in storage, paid Luey the janitor fifty to bring it up here. Could you even believe this beautiful piece of gold was just sitting down there to collect dust? And what's a piano doing down in storage anyway?"

"Well before I ask _why _you were down in storage and make you _return _the piano, I need you two to go down to the clinic for just a few hours. Two or three tops."

"Sure, I could spare a fe--" Wilson began, before House cut in. "Actually, we were about to go embark out to a magical journey, to good food and plenty of drinks. See, I lost a patient, and we're both kind of hung up about it--" he said mockingly before momentarily looking over at Wilson, who helplessly nods, "--and we're about to go eat and drink ourselves cherry and merry." he interjected. Wilson looked back and forth to House and Cuddy, scratching behind his ear. Cuddy tilted her head and placed a hand on her hip.

"Lost a patient? To the meningitis?" She took out the clipboard she had with her and unhooked the pen, scribbling over her paper. House rolled his eyes and groaned, heading over to the other side of the room and leaning his head back against the inner wall of his office. "Yeah, yeah, she was _going _to have brain surgery, but some loon decided to pass out in the middle of a hospital and spread a deadly pandemic all over the place." Cuddy merely shook her head.

"That makes six confirmed dead." Cuddy pursed her lips. "Do I need to inform the family, or...?" House shook his head, and pointed at his eye. "I told the family. Good ol' Pops sent me a gift in return for the wonderful news." Wilson let out a chuckle. "He feels guilty," he mentioned, receiving a nudge in the ribs from House's elbow. "Ow! Easy..." he rubbed his abdomen while Cuddy's rubbed her creased forehead with her fingers. "Damn, I forgot. Do you need some ice for that on your way out?"

"Nah, I'm fine." He briefly averted his stare towards Cuddy and patted Wilson on the back. "C'mon, let's go get House some shots of bourbon. Daddy's thirsty," he chides at Cuddy, turning away with his best friend.

"Don't come buzzed to work! I need focused doctors here tomorrow!" Cuddy called after them, and House waved his cane in the air without looking back. "I'll take care of Wilson!" House replied, along with Wilson rolling his eyes at House and hitting him back. "Jerk," he murmured, putting on his jacket. House smirked as they strolled along the long hallway, leaving Princeton Plainsboro.

* * *

"How did you know she'd make us do clinic hours?"

"I told you. Her breasts tell all," he reminded Wilson, his eyes widening as he retold him so. Wilson guffawed at House's smug expression while stabbing his eggs with his fork.

"Cuddy forgot to ask you why you were in storage." Wilson began covering his hash browns in ketchup.

"She forgot to tell me to take back the piano, too. She's a busy woman." House cringed at Wilson's plate.

"Why were you down in storage?" Wilson stopped, his hand holding his fork over his potatoes. House tapped his spoon against the rim of his coffee cup, looking out at the muted sky through the glass window.

"Curiosity?" Wilson huffed.

"You're curious about everything, but you don't go snooping around in storage to find the answers." Wilson gave House an odd look, which House returned sardonically before answering again.

"While everyone else was out tending to patients with false symptoms of false meningitis," House started, shoving a large forkful of syrup-soaked pancake in his mouth, "I was hiding away in storage."

"Really."

"Yes, really."

"Don't talk with your mouthful."

"Yes mommy."

Wilson raised his eyebrow at House, before taking a swig of coffee.

"Like I said," House continued, "needed a place to hide out. It was either there or hang out with one of my coma pals."

Wilson sighed. "Of course. You must've had so much fun, using your time wisely by going garbage dumping," he reached for a new napkin, "the hospital can do without the extra help." House nodded slowly.

"Change in environment is good," House added, and made a sick face at Wilson taking a bite of his goopy hash browns. Wilson threw his napkin at House.

"I got distracted by the piano. I started playing, and my fingers practically flew. It's a little out of tune, but... it's great." House rested his shabby chin in his hand, while the fingers of his other tapped along the edge of his plate.

"A piano. Down in storage, hm. Wonder what that was doing down there, anyway." Wilson let out a small breath, looking out the window. House's hand made a grab at Wilson's bacon, who turned away from the window seconds after. "But I believe you. For now." House grinned, chewing at the stolen food. Wilson glanced at him.

"You stole my bacon."

"I saved it from drowning in maple syrup."

And their conversation became quiet again, as they continued to eat their early breakfast and drink their morning coffees. After a long moment of eating and forking over pancakes, House inhaled slowly and loudly before setting down his fork.

"Cuddy's bra," he began, "holds no decency in protecting her stubbed nipples."

Slowly grinning, the two doctors looked at each other for an instant before snorting and laughing over breasts, pancakes and good coffee.


	2. Silent Treatment

Okay, so.. I totally haven't updated in forever! Haha, sorry. School's been out, and I've been trying to get over with updating throughout the summer, but now school is starting in three weeks again and my life is slowly returning back to misery. Yay!

So, couple pointers here:

* Sorry sorry SORRY for all of he grammatical errors/punctuation errors or just weird sentences/phrases that you may find. I may have been 'supposedly' working on this for a while, but after slacking off and proof reading about a billion times, there's still prolly gonna be some weird things hidden in here. But just try to ignore those, and read along with the chapter. 8D

* Amber is not dead! At least in my story anyway. I felt like she was too good of a character to just keep buried somewhere, so I wanted to bring her back. Plus, she's awesome. Sorry guys who don't like Amber, but she's a keeper. 3

* THANK YOU TO THE TWO PEOPLE THAT REVIEWED MY FIRST CHAPTER. :'D Much appreciated. Also, thanks for all of the alerts as well! :D

* I think this is kind of a boring chapter. I don't really recall much being interesting here, but yeah. I tried keeping in character, so I hope you guys just like whatever I wrote. :') 3

* Lastly: Read read read, and enjoy! And review, review review! Thanks. :3

* * *

It was another bright and early morning at Princeton Plainsboro, the snow lightly falling outside with small peaks of sunshine sneaking their way through the glass windows. Parading his way through the wide entrance hall was a grungy old man, with his grungy old cane, and his grungy, mean old face sparkling madly with fatigue.

Or at least, that was what the random six year old girl waiting at the clinic thought as the doctor limped his way by.

Following said doctor were a faster pair of legs (bare, shiny legs) that blazed quickly past the man and stopped, stepping right in front of him, point blank.

"You have a case."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do. I'm assigning you one, since you're obviously bright and ready to solve a new mystery today," Cuddy mocked House, who rolled his eyes tiredly. "Nineteen year old, seizure, other symptoms are listed in the file." repeated Cuddy, shoving the blue file into House's chest. Grabbing the file clumsily, he stared at the cover for one second, before tossing the file back on the floor. "No." He made his way around the discarded folder, while Cuddy merely stared back at him, sporting a look of exasperation on her face. Bending down to the floor in her tight skirt to collect the tossed file, she stood up straight, brushing off her midsection.

"It's not that easy to just walk away, you know! You're taking this case, trust me!" Cuddy tiredly called out, as a hand made its way on that well rounded hip of hers. House continued to walk away, not looking back as he securely made it into his office.

Closing the door behind him, House took a small step back, before turning around to face his team.

Who each happened to be tiredly flipping through a familiar blue file that he had previously encountered this morning.

"Oh, god." House threw his cane onto the glass desk where his colleagues sat, waking up a sleepy Thirteen and Kutner. Foreman simply raised his eyebrows at him.

"Nineteen year old, had a seizure and flailing―" Foreman began, before an interrupting voice cut through his recitation.

"Blah, blah. Can we get to the good stuff?" Foreman sighed. "I was getting there?"

"Oh. Right. Continue." House hobbled over to his desk, pulling open the top drawer. Tiredly, Kutner flipped through the pages of the file. "Patient has ataxia, I say Parkinson's. What's with the piano?" he pointed to the large instrument over by the wall near his desk, before tossing the file over to the center of the table.

"Birthday present. Could be Huntington 's," House adds, glancing over at Thirteen who rolled her eyes. "Your birthday's in June, and this _could_ also be anything," she glanced at House, who scornfully glared at her. "Killjoy." Thirteen shook her head and continued. "We only have two symptoms, which gives us a broad spectrum of diagnoses. Usually Cuddy picks cases that tend to your sadistic and perverted needs, and this doesn't even meet any of your standards. This is weak," she said, setting the file down on the table. "Why are you taking this case again?"

"We could MRI her head, see if there's anything. I'm going with degenerative disorder," Foreman announced steering off the topic of Cuddy and tossing his file on top of Kutner's.

"Big props to you for being creative," House sneered, playing around with his pocketknife. "And I didn't choose to diagnose this girl, Cuddy practically attacked me this morning," he said, pointing outside his office with his arm. "Though, I guess it's a good thing you guys'll be the one tending to the patient's tedious needs, while I be the boss who sits around and doesn't do anything. That's how it works, right?" He continued to fiddle with his miniature weapon, while Kutner observed with interest. House looked up at him, before folding the knife back into its slit. "Sorry. Grownups only." Kutner glared slightly at House.

"If she has Parkinson's, it won't show up on an MRI . Go test for both Huntington's and PD, and make sure Thirteen doesn't end up bonding with the patient or anything," he spoke absentmindedly. Thirteen got up from her seat. "Don't worry. I'm all yours, boss," she said, giving House a small wink before leaving the room with Kutner and Foreman close behind.

* * *

...

Ringing.

...

A reluctant hand grabbed the edge of a pillow, folding over one ear.

...

More ringing. Consistent ringing.

...

Another hand reached up, tiredly rubbing away at a sleepy face.

...

Too much noise. Too much _ringing_.

...

An extremely tired and irritated oncologist finally jolted awake and alarmingly sat up, pushing his way through a mass of sheets and out of bed completely. He stormed into the living room, where his loud home phone had been ringing straight for ten minutes. He picked up the phone, stumbling over his couch before hearing a voice accompanied with loud smacking noises in his ear.

"The sound of your ragged breathing isn't really the pleasantest of things to listen to in the morning. Did you fall over the couch again, or are you just happy to see me?"

"House, I'm giving you ten seconds to say whatever it is that you need to say before I hang up."

"Phone sex," House replied, as if he had found the answer to a difficult question. "That's what you call it these days, right? It sounds so flattering." House chewed quietly on his straw, before slurping his beverage loudly into Wilson 's ear, who cringed over the other end of the phone.

"Four seconds left."

"But I've been calling for ten minutes!"

"And I've been sleeping," said Wilson, lying over his couch lazily. "I'd like to go back to bed, before I doze off on in my living room."

"But we're just starting to form a conversation," House whined, taking a bite of a cheesy egg white omelette. "As for a topic starter, I was thinking of asking you why you aren't actually bickering with me in person today." Another bite followed.

"I'm taking a sick day, and you're having breakfast with one of your coma pals, aren't you." Wilson rubbed his forehead, squinting at the rays of sunshine leaking through the thin fabric of hanging window curtains.

"How'd you know that ol' Stan was joining me for some brekky?" House took another bite, reaching for the remote across a seventy-two year old Staniford Smith and changing the channel.

"Aside from listening to you loudly chewing garbage, I can practically hear you and 'ol' Stan' watching Days of Our Lives together. Can I go back to bed?"

"Why are you taking a sick day?" House pressed, a smirk slowly emerging on his face. He could almost hear Wilson 's frustration over the phone, which only made House more interested in humiliating his best friend.

"Did you or did you not notice how drunk I was when you dropped me off home last night? Cuddy would've sent me home anyway if I came into work like that, and since I'm not an idiot, I stayed home." House fully grinned, and Wilson could practically hear the older doctor mocking him silently.

"You're lying." House's voice was dripping with delight.

"Of course I am." Wilson 's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"CB made you stay home." A sigh, and possibly another grin were heard over the phone.

"She was pretty pissed last night when I stumbled into my apartment, obviously didn't want me to―"

"― throw up all over your cute little dying patients? How nice of mommy to look out for little reckless James."

"Shut up."

"Good night." House sweetly hung up the phone, grabbing his cane and remains of his devoured breakfast on his way out of Mr. Smith's room

* * *

"So… you think that whatever I have is affecting my nerve system?"

"Uh, yes," Thirteen answered. She walked over to the other side of the bed, standing besides Sandy, the patient. "We need to know if there has been anyone in your family that's had Huntington's, or if anyone else in your family has been sick."

"Well… why do you need to know if anyone else in my family's been sick of something if you know I have this… Hunterson's?" Thirteen smiled slightly.

"We're not exactly sure if it is Huntington's. Your medical history is a little vague, so we need to know your family's medical history in case we need to look at other options."

"Oh, well… my mom had breast cancer… and I don't really know much about my dad. He left when I was three." Sandy shuffled her legs underneath the linens of the hospital bed, her hands clutching around the edges. "So I guess that doesn't help much, does it?" Thirteen's gaze softened, her mouth forming a small smile of reassurance. Sandy looked up at her, her eyes flooding with worry.

"Am I going to die?" Thirteen let out a small, quiet sigh, fully expecting those words to come out of Sandy's mouth. She lifted her hand, and gently placed it on top of Sandy's shoulder.

"Don't worry. We'll do our best to figure our what's wrong, okay?" Sandy nodded, and Thirteen slowly got up, glad to be leaving the patient's room. Closing the door slowly, she walked a few steps before crashing into someone's chest.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry… House?" The old man gave her a look.

"What's wrong with your face?" Thirteen's hand went up to her cheek, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What, is there something on it?" Her hand moved about her cheeks and chin.

"Nope," House said, beginning to stroll alongside the other doctor. "It reeks with melancholy." Thirteen rolled her eyes in slight disgust. "Could you just be human, for one second of your miserable life?"

"Nope!" House said once again, wandering into his office, hanging his cane on the door handle and sitting down at the piano. Softly, he began to play a small tune, leaving Thirteen to stand beside him, awkwardly.

"The patient doesn't have an accurate history. We have nothing on the dad." House slowly closed his eyes, leaning into the feel of the music.

"What about the mom?" he asked, his fingers racing across the keys. "Breast cancer. Where _did _that come from?" Thirteen pointed to the piano, which House stopped playing.

"I stole it. Once the Huntington's test comes back negative, check for Parkinson's." Thirteen's mouth closed shortly, before leaving the room. Moments later, Kutner came into the room holding a piece of paper with the test results.

"Sandy's negative for Huntington's." House nodded, without looking up from his piano. "Good. Go find Thirteen, and do whatever she's doing." Kutner turned to leave, before House spoke again.

"And where's that one black dude that was in here earlier?" Kutner turned the door handle, "Cuddy's making him doing clinic hours." And he left the room, leaving a confused doctor to go confront a certain administrator.

* * *

"Why are you making Foreman do clinic hours?"

In the middle of a phone call, Cuddy shot a glare at the diagnostician, mouthing the words "get out". Ignoring said commands, House threw his cane at Cuddy's desk, before pressing his finger on the speaker button of the phone.

"Oh, Cuddy!" House loudly exclaimed, throwing his arms out. "I told you doing it on the table was a bad idea!" A small smirk formed on House's face, as Cuddy's cheeks slowly began to turn red. Her hand quickly pressed the speaker button again, avoiding anymore possible embarrassment.

"House, for the sake of your job, get out—no sorry, I wasn't talking to you, just, sorry, uh—no, it's not what you think. There's no one else in the room, this is a confidential phone call..."

"First," House pulled up a chair to the other side of Cuddy's desk, resting his leg on the surface, "you assault me in the lobby and force me against my will to take an incredibly boring case that I don't wanna take," Cuddy sighed, covering the end of the phone with her hand, "take your foot off my desk, you'll track dirt. And get out!" House simply raised his other leg upon her desk, crossing it over his good leg before continuing his small rant. "—and second, you steal one of my homies to go do some meaningless grunt work. Either you're secretly recruiting a cult, or you're just trying to screw with me. I'm going with B."

"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to call you back later," Cuddy finally gave in, much to House's well-hidden pleasure, before hanging up. She faced House, her arms resting neatly upon her desk. "I needed one extra," she said. "Now, get out."

"But why Foreman? He's my best stud."

"I needed one more down in the clinic, and since _you _have to be dragged down by the collar, I decided to choose someone who doesn't mind human contact. And plus, you have a case." Cuddy was now standing up, hovering over her desk as she began organizing loose papers and files. House leaned back, enjoying the lovely view of his boss' plump breasts dangling within her low cut top, right before his own eyes. "Foreman also has case," he dragged out the 's' in the last word, distracted by Cuddy's left boob squirming as her arm frantically moved around the desk.

"And did you forget about the other three doctors that are also being paid to be tortured by you? I'm pretty sure Thirteen was the hot bisexual one," Cuddy scoffed.

"Well, Taub's on vacation… Thirteen and Kutner… I'm pretty sure the set isn't completely without my g-man."

"Well right now he's doing _your_ clinic hours, and he doesn't know about it." Cuddy stood up straight from her desk with a hand on her hip, to House's unhappiness. His unhappiness, however, was quickly covered by more confusion than since he had entered Cuddy's office.

"Wait… why would you do that, and why would you tell me that?" he said, giving her a condescendingly puzzled look.

"Did I not say that I didn't have the time to drag you down by the ear?"

"No, you told me to get out." Cuddy gave House an expressionless look.

"_Get out_." House raised his eyebrows at her and moved his legs off of her desk, shuffling towards her office door.

"So, this whole thing where Foreman does my hours, and I get to do nothing… it's permanent, right?" House replied in a sarcastically hopeful voice. Cuddy responded with a glare. "Right." He turned, and headed off and down the hallway, smirking slightly to himself.

* * *

"Why would Cuddy make Foreman do my clinic hours…"

"Did you ask her if she was recruiting members to form a cult?" House paused. "How did you know?"

"Cuddy called, she wanted to know how I was doing," Wilson spoke over speakerphone while he ripped up a plate of waffles.

"I thought she already had a baby to take care of. What's CB doing?" House questioned, pulling apart a roll of bread with his hands, eating half of it at once. "I'm sure she wouldn't leave little Jimmy home alone all day?"

"She's out doing yoga. Weren't we supposed to be talking about Cuddy, and how she's surprisingly making your life easier?" Wilson stuffed a piece of syrupy waffle into his mouth.

"When did Amber start taking yoga?" Wilson rolled his eyes. "She signed up for classes after her physical therapy stopped. _So_, I heard this thing about _Cuddy…_"

"Yeah, yeah," House annoyingly responded, picking at the vegetables on his plate. He glanced at a nurse sitting two tables away from him in the cafeteria, who was anxiously tapping her spoon against the table. "Cuddy molested me in the lobby today."

"Really…" Wilson droned, going over to the counter to refill his glass with orange juice. "After about two months of avoiding each other like the plague, Cuddy spontaneously snaps and goes straight to harassing you. Strange behavior…"

"Shut up," House muttered, eating a carrot off his plate. "She's making me work on this pointless case. Usually when she gives me cases, she gives me what I want, unless it involves her big ass being on the line, in which case _this _case falls into neither category, so… I'm guessing she's just out to get me."

"But you two haven't spoken in two months, so why would she be out to get you?" Wilson asked curiously. House chewed silently on a piece of steak.

"I don't know," he said after a short while. Wilson slowly took another bite of waffle. "O…kay?"

"Don't sweat. Soon enough, I'll formulate a theory. Adios." He clicked his Bluetooth, ending the conversation and went back to eating. As he continued to mutilate his steak with his fork, the shuffling sound of multiple footsteps was coming closer and closer as two of his lapdogs came and took seats at his table.

"Sorry. There was a sign that said closed brunch." Thirteen stole a piece of bread from his plate. "Hey!" House protested. "Patient doesn't have Parkinson's." Thirteen popped the piece of food in her mouth. House set down his fork, resting his forehead in his hand.

"So what else did we have on the table?" Kutner slowly reached for a bit of untouched steak, before House slapped his hand away. "Pay attention." Thirteen shrugged. "We were sure that it would be a degenerative or neurodegenerative, but since we ruled out both diseases, the slate's clean."

"Ooookay," House said, now spinning the straw in his drink. "So what explains seizure, and lack of motor skills?"

"Hey, what I miss?" Foreman suddenly appeared, walking towards them and sitting besides Kutner, across from Thirteen and House. "We're just discussing the latest episode of 24." Foreman gave House a weird look.

"What did the test show for Parkinson's?" "Negative." "Oh." "And no other new symptoms?" "Nada."

Suddenly, multiple pagers began to beep loudly. Kutner read his pager quickly, before turning to House. "Sandy's heart rate is going up." House stared back at Kutner briefly. "Looks like Foreman got what he waned," he recalled before tearing up another piece of bread. Kutner continued to stare at him, before House rolled his eyes once more at him.

"Well go fix it!" The three doctors rose quickly from their seats, racing out of the cafeteria.

"Idiots," the older doctor mumbled, standing up to throw his food in the trash and hobble out of the cafeteria.

* * *

"So, how's the patient?"

"Suffered a seizure, but we've got it under control." Cuddy sighed quietly, her shoulders slumped slightly.

"But that's not why you're here, is it?"

"Nope," Thirteen simply answered, leaning over the chair in front of the desk. Cuddy nodded.

"You're here," Cuddy said, leaning forward against her desk and placing her arms over her pile of papers, "because I assigned House a mediocre case and you want to know why."

"Yes." Thirteen answered simply again, with a small nod. Cuddy rested her chin in her hand.

"I just need him busy." Thirteen arched an eyebrow. "Why? You guys've been playing the silent treatment game for over a month. As strange as it was to witness between my two bosses..." Cuddy shook her head. "I know, but... I just need him busy."

"So you give him a case that he'll probably end up solving by today? This obviously looks rushed... and, why are you making Foreman do his hours?" Cuddy glared at the other doctor.

"How did you know?" Thirteen rolled her eyes. "House was practically skipping into his office after we came back from the patient's room and gloated all about it. Foreman's still in the dark, though." The dean rubbed her temple.

"I need him busy, and satisfied so that he won't bug me. That way, he'll forget that I gave him a case that a three year old could solve." Cuddy picked up the mug from her desk and took a sip.

"But why won't you tell me why you need him busy?" Cuddy looked up at Thirteen, who stared back with minimal interest.

"Does it have to do with you?" Cuddy continued starting back at Thirteen, who decided to push futher.

"Does it have to do with you and Lucas?" Cuddy pursed her lips together, and stood up.

"It isn't anything serious. And, as long as it doesn't interfere with his work, it isn't a problem," Cuddy said, evading Thirteen's inquiries. The other female tilted her head with a smirk.

"Okay, but, I will find out eventually," Thirteen said, backing away from Cuddy's desk, and towards her door.

"House will find out eventually." Cuddy gave Thirteen a look of exasperation.

"Right," Thirteen nodded, heading out of the dean's office. Cuddy sighed again, looking down on the ground before slumping back into her chair. She picked up the phone, staring out the window before dialing a number.

"Hey, Luca- oh. Oh, sorry... sorry, I'll just... I'll just call you back later. Yeah. Bye, sorry." Hanging up, she rested her chin in her hand again, looking down at her paperwork. Extending her arm over her cluttered desk and letting out a long sigh, she slowly closed her eyes, pushing back the tears that threatened to cloud her vision as she fell into a soft, exhausting sleep.


End file.
